


Beautiful

by nameless_bliss



Series: Alec Lightwood Deserves Nice Things [1]
Category: Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alec's POV, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, Insecure Alec Lightwood, Internalized Toxic Masculinity, Lightwood Sibling Fluff, M/M, Makeup and Gender, Negative self-image, Present Tense, Supportive Isabelle Lightwood, Surprise Makeover (of sorts)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-25
Updated: 2016-03-25
Packaged: 2018-05-29 01:16:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6353089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nameless_bliss/pseuds/nameless_bliss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Seriously, Alec, you’ve never wanted to try wearing makeup before?”</p>
<p>What starts as an emergency hickey-covering ends with Alec confronting a lifetime of issues about his appearance. He isn't quite sure how that happens, but Isabelle has her ways.</p>
<p><b>Update:</b> Translation into Русский (Russian) available: <a href="https://ficbook.net/readfic/5998593">Красивый</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Beautiful

The thing about the Institute is that it’s surprisingly easy to sneak out of it.

For all the wards and protections woven into the building to keep the unwanted out, there’s not much going for it to keep people _in._ Alec learned that early on. Or rather, Jace and Isabelle learned that early on, with Alec begrudgingly following at their heels to make sure they didn’t get themselves killed. He’s followed his siblings on enough secret excursions (everything from unapproved missions to hopping from nightclub to nightclub until sunrise) that it’s practically a non-event for him to get himself out undetected.

The _other_ thing about the Institute is that it’s damn near impossible to sneak back in.

Alec’s never really considered the fact that every single one of Jace and Izzy’s horrible plans ended up with the three of them getting spectacularly caught the morning after. They’d never actually _needed_ to sneak back in. The doors were always open, usually with Hodge right there waiting for them, a new lecture already on the tip of his tongue.

This realization doesn’t strike Alec until he’s already walking up to the front door. He’d never made it this far when he was thinking it through. It’s barely past dawn, which means most of the Institute won’t be up and running yet, but some people certainly will be. And he doesn’t have an excuse. And more importantly, he knows he won’t be able to think of one. Improv has never really been his strong suit.

Knowing there’s nothing else for it, he throws open the door with what little confidence he can muster. If he walks with enough purpose, maybe no one will bother him. Walk fast, look busy, look like whatever he’s walking toward is more important than anyone who might see him. So he walks as fast as he can without running, not wanting to cross from ‘purposeful’ to ‘panicked’, even if that’s exactly what he’s feeling. The blurs of movement in the corners of his vision tell him that there are definitely a few people already awake and going about their morning routines, but he refuses to look anywhere but straight ahead, so he doesn’t see if anyone pays him any attention.

When he rounds the corner and catches sight of his bedroom door, he sighs through his nose - and the burning in his lungs makes him realize that he hadn’t actually been breathing until then. This hallway is safe, and he knows it. The only other person who’d possibly be here right now is Isabelle, and he knows there’s no way in hell that she’s awake this early-

“And just where do you think _you’re_ going, young man?”

Alec’s eyes close for one quietly pained moment. His bedroom door is halfway open. One of his feet is over the threshold. Freedom was literally _centimeters_ away.

But of course, _of course_ that was too good to be true.

“Izzy-”

“I don’t want to hear it!” Isabelle proclaims in her most melodramatic impression of their mother. It’s frighteningly accurate. “Do you have any idea what time it is? Alexander Gideon Lightwood, we had half the Institute out looking for you.” Her voice is all Maryse, but the playfully sly grin is all her own. “By the Angel, we’ve been worried _sick_.”

Alec forces himself to let go of the door, surrendering his last hope of escape. “Your script is outdated. Mom stopped saying she’s worried about us years ago. Now it’s just outrage and disappointment.”

Isabelle laughs, expertly weaseling her way into Alec’s personal space, right in the doorway. She’s still in her pajamas, and the inelegant pile of hair on her head makes it clear that she hasn’t started getting ready for the day yet. “Oh come on, big brother, did you really think you could spend another night at Magnus’s and expect me not to tease you _at all?_ ”

Alec feels the rush of blood to his face, the heat on his cheeks instantly a palpable burn. “That’s not wh-”

“Alec, don’t insult me. I know a walk of shame when I see one, though personally I’ve never seen much to be ashamed of.” She leans back against the doorframe, pointedly looking him over and speaking with casual efficiency. “Your clothes may all look the same, but I can still tell this is what you wore yesterday. Your hair actually looks decent, which means Magnus must have forced a comb through it before you left. You barely have any weapons on you, which means you weren’t there for any sort of official business. And if all that weren’t enough, _this_ ,” she makes a jerking movement with her head, “is so obvious, you might as well have a giant sign over your head.”

“What are you talking about?”

Isabelle repeats the jerking motion, this time keeping her head tipped to the side. With one finger, she delicately taps a spot on her exposed neck.

Alec instinctively touches the same spot on his own neck, equal parts confused and irritated. The moment his finger touches his throat, he feels it. The bruise may not literally register his touch, but the pieces fall into place so vividly that it stings like an open wound. “Shit,” he whispers, pressing his palm to his neck to hide the dark, messy hickey. “Shit. Shit shit shit _shit._ ”

“So…” Isabelle smiles with too much innocence, not even trying to hide her amusement, “how was the sex?”

“ _Isabelle!_ ”

“What? Just asking.”

“That’s n-not… It wasn’t- That’s not what happened,” Alec stammers, helplessly tugging the collar of his jacket to try and hide his throat. “I… fell.”

Isabelle tilts her head. “On your neck?”

Alec doesn’t bother responding. He practically falls into his room, running to the mirror to examine the hickey. It’s worse than he thought. Dark purple, splotchy, the size of a quarter, absolutely unmistakable, and high enough that no shirt collar could possibly cover it. He doesn’t own any scarves. Or… he thinks he doesn’t… maybe he has one tucked away somewhere for winter? There has to be something.

This hasn’t happened before. This _shouldn’t_ have happened this time. “Magnus is usually so careful with crap like this. It’s always somewhere I can hide it. I didn’t even _notice_ , and he must not have either or he would have fucking warned me before I just waltzed right into the Institute with this… _thing_ right out in the open. How could we miss it? It’s as big as my face-”

“Alec.”

When had he started talking out loud? He shuts his mouth with an audible click, face burning even brighter than before. He looks away from his own reflection and finds Isabelle watching him in the mirror. Her smirk is infuriating. “This isn’t _funny_ , Izzy.”

“You still haven’t answered my question.”

Alec grits his teeth. He doesn’t have time for this. “What question?”

Isabelle’s smirk spreads even wider. “How was the sex?”

Alec briefly wonders how much hassle it would be to just set himself on fire and be done with it. But somehow, he loses control over his mouth again, because before he can think any better of it he says, “Good.”

Isabelle makes a small, surprised sound. She clearly wasn’t expecting an actual answer.

Alec looks back to his own reflection, unable to maintain eye contact in a conversation about _this_ with his _baby sister_. “It was good, okay? It was really… it was really good.” His face heats up again, but this time not because of Isabelle’s teasing. His thoughts trail backward as his eyes fix on the hickey in the mirror. Bright, flickering flashes from the night before come back to him, hundreds all at once. He loses his breath for a moment. A warm spark lights under his skin, in each of the places he knows Magnus touched him, prickling with heat and making the air in his room suddenly seem too cold. It makes him shiver, all the way down his spine - which effectively snaps him out of his thoughts. “It was good, and that’s all I’m going to say about it so don’t bother. Now how the fuck do I get rid of this thing?”

Isabelle takes a step in toward him, still looking into the mirror and not directly at him. She makes that little sound, the one she always makes when she thinks he’s being an idiot, but in an endearing way. A patronizing little hum. “Alec, you’re a grown-ass man. You don’t have to sneak out to spend a night with your boyfriend, and you don’t have to wear a turtleneck just because you got one little hickey-”

“This is not a _little_ hickey, Isabelle.”

“Still. You’re an adult. You don’t have to hide anything. Everyone knows you’re dating Magnus. Why can’t you just date him like a normal person? Like, without the whole sneaking around like you’re fourteen thing.”

Alec turns away, unable to to bear his sister’s well-meaning scrutiny. “Because it’s our business, alright?” He pauses for a moment, waiting for her to jump right in with a comeback. But she doesn’t, and he gives a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure she’s not going to. She’s making a face. He knows that face. He knows that _she_ knows that he has more to say, and won’t let up until he says it. So he braces himself, and keeps going. “Yes, everyone knows we’re dating, and yes, I’m happy that it’s not a secret. But that’s all anyone needs to know. And if I say that I’m staying with him for the night, or if you guys see me leave and not come back, or if I walk around with a fucking _sex stamp_ on my neck… everyone’s gonna know. And even if nothing actually happened, you’re all still gonna _think_ you know what happened. And it’s none of your business. I don’t need anyone thinking they know what’s- what we’re doing. That’s just… that’s just between me and him.”

He takes a slow breath as he runs out of steam. He’s never articulated any of this before, though it’s been on his mind for weeks now. Jace has contained himself to a few well-placed quips (probably because Clary’s been keeping him in check), but Isabelle is becoming almost insufferable. Alec knows it’s coming from a good place, that she’s just excited that Alec’s finally starting to be comfortable with… all of this. But that doesn’t mean he can actually stomach her smirks, and her jokes, and her loaded glances, and her… anything, really.

Alec turns back after a few seconds of silence, hoping she’s not still expecting him to speak. But her face is completely blank. He can’t read it at all.

Finally, she shrugs. “Okay.”

Alec opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He makes an inarticulate sound, then tries again. “‘Okay’? That’s it?”

“Yes. You want your private life to actually be private? Okay. That makes perfect sense, and I understand.” She tugs at some part of her messy hairstyle, and the whole thing shifts a little higher on her head. She’s got her Business Face on now, the one that’s just a _bit_ less scary than her Ass-Kicking Face. “First of all: next time you sneak out, bring workout clothes, and when you come back the next day you can say you were out for a morning jog.”

“That’s… actually a good idea,” Alec admits, though he’s still a little unnerved by the intensity of her expression.

“Second: that hickey.”

“How do I hide it?”

Isabelle gives an exaggerated sigh. “If only you knew someone who’s amazing with makeup and loves you very much.”

Alec rolls his eyes, but can’t quite hide a small smile. “And if only she’d deign to share some of her amazing makeup powers with me because I love her too.”

Isabelle’s grabbed his hand and is dragging him out of the room before he’s even sure what’s happening. “We don’t have a lot of time before Jace wakes up, but it shouldn’t take too long. I just need to make sure I have the right palette… hopefully I won’t have to borrow from Clary…”

In a handful of seconds, they’re in Isabelle’s room, the door still slamming behind them as Alec is shoved into the chair in front of her vanity. She clears a space at the edge of the table, perching on it as gracefully as if it were a throne. Her hands are a blur of movement as she snatches a small collection of brushes and sponges and containers and cases from various drawers. It takes no time at all for her to start dabbing at his neck with something cold and goopy. He wants to protest, but knows better than to bite the hand that’s saving his dignity.

But seeing how thin and runny her current choice of goop looks, he can’t quite help himself. “Are you sure this won’t smear on my clothes? Or sweat off during training?”

Isabelle’s hand freezes, sponge still pressed to his throat. “Excuse me?” She asks in a quiet, terrifying voice. “You think I don’t know what I’m doing? You think I get the crap that just wipes off for no reason?” She glares at him until he has to physically shrink back from her. “This is _my_ makeup. This shit will stay put til long after your hickey’s gone, if you want it to. You’ll need _multiple_ showers to clean this off.”

Alec assumes she’s exaggerating, but decides it’s best to keep his damn mouth shut. He even keeps it shut when it looks like she’s reaching for some sort of _green_ foundation. But it blends onto his skin as well as everything else, and in what feels like only a few minutes, the hickey has completely vanished.

Alec is just starting to relax (which, in retrospect, he realizes was a mistake) when there’s a loud knock on the door.

“Hey Izzy?”

Without waiting for response, the door swings open.

“Have you seen Alec? I can’t find him anyw-”

Jace stops in the doorway. Likewise, Isabelle’s hand stops, still holding some sort of giant powder puff against Alec’s neck.

Alec, for his part, pointedly refuses to look at his parabatai. But this leaves him staring at his own reflection in Isabelle’s mirror, so he can plainly see how unmistakable this situation is. What the fuck is this powder puff supposed to do, anyway? Why does it have to be so giant, and fluffy, and _pink?_ Alec watches color rise to his cheeks, and distantly wonders if Jace will think it’s a _cosmetic_ blush, and not one of mortification.

Isabelle, unsurprisingly, is the first one to break the atmosphere of surprise. “Excuse you? I didn’t say you could come in! We’re busy here.”

“Busy with… what, exactly?” Jace asks, eyes fixed on the array of open tubes and pots of makeup.

Isabelle rolls her eyes. “Wow, Jace. Have you never seen _makeup_ before?” She holds up the powder puff and squeezes it, releasing a cloud of pale dust into the air.

Jace doesn’t look any less confused. “Yeah, but… why?”

“By the Angel, Jace, it is too early in the morning for stupid questions.” Isabelle points to Alec with exasperation. “Alec is here. And I have makeup. Obviously, I am doing Alec’s makeup. Is that clear enough for you? Doing. Alec’s. Makeup.” She articulates each word, moving her lips more than she needs to.

Alec opens his mouth to protest - because seriously, how is that _less_ embarrassing than just telling the truth? But Jace cuts in before he has the chance. “Why are you doing his neck?”

“I’m making sure I mixed the color right before I put it all over his face! Because _obviously_ I’m used to working with a slightly different skin tone than his. Now unless you’re planning on staying and watching, it’s time for you to leave. Unless you have any more dumb questions?”

Alec is still staring intently at his own eyes in the mirror, watching them get wider and more horrified by the second. He doesn’t see Jace back toward the door, but he can hear his shuffling footsteps. “No, I’ll uh… yeah. Alec, come find me when you’re… done. Yeah.” Jace’s voice trails off before the door shuts behind him.

Isabelle resumes pressing powder onto Alec’s neck as though nothing’s happened. She starts to hum to herself.

“Izzy,” Alec says quietly once he remembers how to make his voice work, “what the fuck?”

She looks up at him, genuinely confused. “What the fuck _what_ _?"_

Alec jerks away from her, turning in the chair so he can actually face her. “What the fuck was _that?_  How is saying you’re giving me a _makeover_ the best excuse you could come up with?”

“Who says it was an excuse?” She sets down the powder puff and picks up the foundation-soaked sponge instead.

Alec looks at the sponge, then Isabelle, then back to the sponge. “No.” He starts to stand up.

He doesn’t get far before Isabelle is pressing him back down onto the chair. “Come _on,_  big brother, why can’t I have a little fun?” She rests her chin on his shoulder, batting her eyelashes at him in the mirror. “Just a little makeup. Nothing you don’t want, I promise.”

“I don’t want _any_ makeup, Izzy.” He tries to crane his head away from the sponge that she’s holding dangerously close to his cheek. “Thank you, seriously, thank you for covering the hickey. But I didn’t sign up for glitter and lipstick.”

“Oh don’t be so dramatic,” Isabelle gives his arm a light smack, “no one said anything about glitter _or_ lipstick. I’m talking about nice, subdued makeup. Just for fun. You’ll look great, believe me, I know what I’m doing.”

When Alec doesn’t immediately protest, she must consider it a victory, because she reaches for one of the discarded tubes of foundation. “Seriously, Alec, you’ve _never_ wanted to try wearing makeup before?”

Alec looks away, working his jaw, but not knowing what to say.

“You’ve never watched Magnus do his makeup in the morning?”

He feels heat crawl up his neck toward his ears, and distantly wonders how many times he’s doomed to blush today. He hasn’t even had breakfast yet; this amount of embarrassment is grossly unfair. “I did… once.” He glances up at Isabelle, but can’t hold her gaze. He looks over the table instead, at the array of powders and paints. “It felt weird to watch, though. Like… just staring at him when he’s getting ready, it felt… like I was intruding. But I have thought…” he doesn’t know how to finish.

Because he _has_ thought about it before. He wants to believe that it only crossed his mind once he started dating Magnus, once he started seeing a man wear makeup everyday like there’s nothing unusual about it - and there _isn’t_ anything unusual about it, Alec knows that now, it’s just…

He can still remember the first makeup kit Isabelle bought for herself, when she was twelve. Completely against their parent’s direct commands, obviously. She could only wear it when Mom and Dad were in Idris, or gone for a few days on a mission. And she hadn’t known what to do with it right away (Alec can distinctly remember the first few weeks, when she looked alarmingly like an overzealous clown), but she learned fast. And Alec got to see it. He’d never thought twice about makeup before, but seeing Izzy go into her room looking one way and then come out looking so different, looking more confident and happy and, yeah, in some sense of the word, prettier… it had always struck some nerve that he hadn’t understood. So, not knowing what else to do, he’d taken their parents’ side, saying she was too young for it and it was unnecessary and extravagant. He’d never admitted, even to himself, how jealous it made him. That she could lock herself in her room for half an hour and emerge looking different, and somehow better, while Alec was stuck looking the way he always looked. He didn’t get to make his nose look smaller, or his eyes brighter, or his lips softer. His appearance was what it was, and he had to deal with it, and see it, and hate it. Every day. He wasn’t allowed options, like Izzy was. And he’d hated it.

He hates it.

He always has. Over the years, he’s stopped thinking about his appearance as much as possible, and the hatred has sort of simmered, tucked into the back of his mind. Not pressing at him all the time, but always there to remind him when he has too much time in front of a mirror. And there’s nothing in particular that bothers him, which is the most infuriating thing. He doesn’t really want to _change_ anything, and some part of him knows that he isn’t completely unattractive. But then he sees his face, and it’s just… there. How it is. Pale and sullen and so horribly, unbearably… plain. And he’s always known that there’s nothing he can do about it.

And then Magnus Bane waltzes into his life, covered in glitter from head to toe, spending more time on his appearance everyday than even Isabelle (though magic sometimes helps speed up the process). Alec can’t pinpoint when in his life he was taught that men aren’t allowed to wear makeup, that men aren’t allowed to care if they’re beautiful, that men aren’t allowed to _be_ beautiful. That he isn’t allowed to be beautiful. But it was something he’d known with enough certainty that seeing Magnus paint gloss onto his lips had shattered something fundamental about Alec’s world. If anyone tried to tell Magnus that men aren’t supposed to be beautiful, he’d probably just laugh at them and put on a bigger pair of fake eyelashes. Spending time with Magnus had torn down a wall in Alec’s mind that he hadn’t even known he’d had until it was gone. Because Magnus gets to look however he wants. Always. He can cover his eyelids in glitter, sculpt the curves of his face, draw people’s gazes to exactly what he wants them to see, exactly how he wants them to see it. He’s the embodiment of the word ‘beautiful’, and for him, it’s so easy.

But for Alec…

“It’s not… for me.” He says at last, knowing the words don’t sound right, but not knowing any others that would sound better.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Alec’s still refusing to look at Isabelle, but he can hear the frown in her voice. “You don’t think guys can look good in makeup? Do you think Magnus doesn’t look good in makeup?”

“What? No, of course not,” Alec finally turns to face Isabelle this time so she can get a good look at his outraged face. Because, really? That’s insulting. Magnus looks amazing, no matter what he is or isn’t wearing. He’s convinced by now that it’s actually impossible for Magnus to look anything less than spectacular. And while there’s a part of him that prefers the way Magnus looks first thing in the morning - right when he comes out of the shower, hair down and wet, face completely clean - because it’s a version of Magnus that only Alec gets to see (and how strange is that thought? That there’s any piece of Magnus that he’s chosen to share with _Alec_ and no one else?), he can’t deny that there’s something almost entrancingly gorgeous about Magnus when he’s completely done up. Something so confident and sexy that it seems completely untouchable, and for Alec, completely unattainable.

“So why can he wear makeup, and you can’t?” Isabelle asks, clearly trying to be gentle about it.

“Because,” Alec starts, since it feels like it should be obvious. But he realizes he doesn’t actually know how to say it. “Because he’s… him. He’s elegant, and glamorous, and it… makes sense. On _me_ it’d just look… ridiculous.”

Isabelle smirks. “Believe me, Alec, no one who gets their makeup done by me looks _ridiculous_.”

Alec isn’t sure when Isabelle decided that she’d been given permission to go ahead with this, but all of a sudden she’s loading up her sponge with foundation and gently nudging Alec’s chin to get him to face the mirror again. Alec takes stock of what he sees, the usual disappointment of pallor and dark circles and general lifelessness that’s made him hate mirrors for so many years. And when Isabelle stipples a small dot of foundation onto his nose, he can’t make himself feel anything but a flicker of… excitement.

“You actually have really great skin,” Isabelle says lightly as she covers his cheeks in small dots, “so you don’t need much base. Which is good, since I use this color for highlight and I don’t want to waste it all on my ungrateful big brother.”

Alec sees the corner of his mouth quirk upward, but he doesn’t manage a full smile - he’s afraid it might mess up whatever complicated artwork is being spread across his face.

Isabelle keeps up a constant commentary on what she’s doing, explaining each color of creme and each new brush she uses. And she keeps Alec focused on the mirror, so he can see what’s happening. There won’t be a dramatic reveal at the end where he suddenly can’t recognize himself, and he’s immensely grateful, for all of it.

“There’s not much that needs concealer, except under the eyes, because _someone_ doesn’t know how to get a healthy amount of sleep.”

And a few minutes later: “Your bone structure is nice enough already, so I’m not going to really contour anything. I think blush will be enough.”

And once she’s smothered his whole face with the giant powder puff and has switched sponges and liquids for powders and fluffy brushes: “Close your eyes, keep them closed, and try not to flinch.”

Alec thinks that’s a fairly ominous warning as far as makeup goes, but does as he’s told. It’s a bit of a disappointment to not get to see what Isabelle’s doing, but also a bit of relief, since this is the longest he’s looked at himself since… well, ever.

He nearly jumps out of his skin at the first touch to his eyelid. He curses his reflexes as Isabelle laughs at him. He gets himself under control, though he can’t always keep his eyes from twitching at all the unexpected contact.

“It’s nothing too dark,” Isabelle explains, undeterred by the lack of cooperation from Alec’s eyelids, “just some neutral shadow, with a little shimmer, to make your eyes pop a bit. I’m gonna do the liner now, so _please_ don’t flinch this time.”

And then it’s something liquid and cold. And then it’s “Open your eyes and look up”, and it’s like he’s being gently stabbed with a crayon. And then it’s “Hold still, doing mascara on other people is annoying as hell.” And then something soft is smoothed over his lips and it’s “Rub your lips together, it’s just tinted chapstick, it won’t smear.”

And then Isabelle is stepping away, wiping her hands on her pajama shirt (which is already stained with years’ worth of streaks and splotches of makeup). “What do you think?”

Steeling himself, Alec meets his own eyes in the mirror. They look big, and bright, and warm. The skin around them is smooth and even, not drained and dark. There’s a soft, healthy-looking glow in his cheeks, and on his forehead. His lips don’t look colored or glossy, but they’re still somehow fuller and softer than usual, like how they look when he’s spent a little too much time kissing Magnus. He looks healthy, and pampered, and…

He realizes that he’s tilting his head, a little bit in every direction. Each new angle is interesting, and exciting. There are new shadows and highlights in the curves of his face, and new colors in his eyes that he’s never seen before. But nothing looks unfamiliar. It’s not a shocking change. Nothing about it looks like it’s not… him. It’s definitely him. It’s just… more of what’s good. He can see the things about his face that he knows are attractive, really _see_ them. His eyes stand out, his cheekbones are stronger, and it all looks put-together in a way that he’s never quite felt.

And it’s…

His mouth dries up, apparently along with every word he knows.

“Do you… hate it?” Isabelle asks carefully, after far too many moments pass in silence.

“No,” Alec says instantly, though it’s such an understatement that it almost feels dishonest.

Isabelle must have been expecting more, since she doesn’t seem too convinced. “It was just for fun. Just so you could see. I won’t be offended if it’s not your thing.” She rummages in one of the lower drawers and pulls out a thin, crinkly package, setting it down on the table. “Here, these will wipe it all off whenever you want to. Mascara sometimes sticks around for a little while, but showering usually takes care of the residue.”

Alec wants to glance down at the makeup wipes, but finds that he can’t tear his eyes away from his own reflection.

And that’s…

That’s a new feeling.

That’s a nice feeling.

“Izzy. Thanks.” His voice is smaller than he wants it to be. He wants to say more. But nothing comes to him. He’s still staring at himself. And slowly, he’s starting to smile.

Isabelle puts a hand on his shoulder, standing behind him. Alec snaps out of his trance and finally looks up at her in the mirror. The look on her face tells him that she gets it. Even if he can’t figure out how to say it, she gets it. “No need to thank me. That’s what sisters are for.” She smiles, and ducks to press a quick kiss to the top of his head. “Eugh,” she wrinkles her nose as she pulls away. “You smell like sandalwood.”

Alec looks away, more shyly than he intends. “It’s Magnus’s shampoo.”

Isabelle scoffs. “You two are _disgusting_.” She shoves at his shoulder. “Get out of my room, you’re getting your lovesick _sandalwood_ germs everywhere.”

Alec laughs quietly as he finally stands and moves away from the mirror, taking the makeup wipes with him. His free hand wanders up to his face, fingertips trailing gingerly across his jaw. He can tell that there’s something on his skin that isn’t usually there, but it doesn’t feel as strange as he’d expected.

The exploratory touch doesn’t escape Isabelle’s attention. “I wasn’t kidding, this is good stuff. It’ll stay put until you wash it off.” She crosses to the door, peeking her head out into the hallway before turning back to Alec. “Except, don’t like, rub your eyes or anything. Respect the makeup.” She smirks, and nods to the door. “The coast is clear.”

Alec wants to say something, or hug her, but some part of him doesn’t want to give that much away. Wants her to think this was just a silly makeover, and that he doesn’t really care. So he just puts a hand on her shoulder, with a small smile. “Thanks.”

Isabelle returns his small smile with a grin. “You’re welcome, big brother.” Then she bats his hand off of her shoulder. “Now, seriously, get out. You’re making the whole place reek of sandalwood.”

Alec ducks into the hallway, feeling a slight burst of panic that someone will catch him, and he’ll have to explain what exactly is going on with his face. But the coast really is clear, and he’s only slightly frantic as he runs back to the safety of his own room and shuts the door.

Barely a second passes before he’s back at his mirror, tossing the makeup wipes onto the bed behind him. There’s a brief moment where he fears that the spell will be broken, that looking away and looking back will lessen the effect, and seeing himself outside the bubble of Izzy’s makeup table will make him look as horrible as ever.

But it’s still there. The subtle change. The indescribable improvement. And yeah, it looks a little different in this light (or lack thereof - Izzy’s room is much brighter than his), but it’s still…

It’s still good. He still looks good. He looks… almost, kind of… pretty, in a way. It’s not something he knows how to process. He can feel the minutes pass, and he still has no desire to look away. He stands at his mirror for longer than he cares to admit, just looking at himself, and smiling. Smiling at himself. Smiling at how he sees himself in the mirror. And that’s… that’s certainly something.

It’s probably five or ten minutes later when he feels his phone vibrate in his back pocket. And it’s surprisingly difficult to look away from himself long enough to get the phone and see that it’s a text, from Magnus.

_Did you get sent to detention in Idris already?_

Shit. He was supposed to text him when he made it back to the Institute.

_No, I’m back, it’s fine. Just got held up by Izzy._

He glances up again, and wonders.

He’s not sure if he’s ever actually used the camera on his phone before, and it takes him an embarrassingly long time to even find it. It takes even longer to figure out how to position the phone in the mirror to actually get a decent close-up of his face. And then, to take half a dozen more pictures, changing the angle of his face and the phone, trying to get _one picture_ that looks somewhat decent. He doesn’t understand how he can look so good in the mirror, but so awkward in the pictures. It takes several minutes for him to get one that looks acceptable, though he’s still a little disappointed that it doesn’t look more… more… he doesn’t know. But he’s getting sick of trying, so it’s good enough.

It takes another minute of confusion to figure out how to send the picture to Magnus, with the caption: _Be honest, does this look stupid?_

His heart starts racing as he waits for a reply, and it’s just enough time for him to completely lose all his newfound confidence. He looks back to the mirror, but the pleasant glow of the makeup can’t do much to soften his frown.

He flinches when his phone buzzes in his hand. He knows that Magnus wouldn’t be harsh, even if he really hated it, but it still takes a moment to get up the courage to read the text.

_Do you like it?_

Alec fights the urge to roll his eyes. Of course. He should have known. This is Magnus, and Magnus knows him better than Alec would like to admit. He knows that Alec will ask for his opinion when he doesn’t want to admit his own. That when he asks Alec what he wants, Alec will say ‘Whatever you want’ rather than have to express his own desires. That Alec is more comfortable with being told how to feel about something than deciding for himself, in case his opinion is wrong. And Magnus won’t stand for it. He never does.

Alec grits his teeth, glancing back up at his reflection and willing himself to just… see.

It only takes a few moments for a smile to spread across his face, small and shy.

_Yeah. I really do._

This time, it only takes a few seconds for Magnus to reply.

_You look beautiful, Alexander._

Something twists deep in Alec’s stomach, deep enough that it makes his breath hitch in his throat. Magnus has said things like that before, too many times for Alec to count. And every time, he’s shied away from it. Changed the subject, dodged the compliment, or flat-out denied it. But this time…

He looks at himself again. The spark in his eyes. The slight color in his cheeks. The smile, soft and honest. And for the first time, he sees it.

For the first time, he sees himself as beautiful.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write a bit of fluff about Alec wearing makeup, and suddenly this happened. I strongly support Alec Lightwood getting to have nice things and feel good about himself.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! I'd love to hear from you, either here or [my tumblr blog](http://my-nameless-bliss.tumblr.com/).

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Beautiful](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7323298) by [Lilian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilian/pseuds/Lilian)




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